


Searching for Snakes

by Parakeeet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Appended: Tom 'Eternally best friend zoned' Riddle, BAMF Harry, But also, Dark Harry, Evil Albus Dumbledore, F/F, F/M, Harry 'reckless (TM)' Potter, Harry Potter & Tom Riddle Grow Up Together, Harry is also emotionally incompetent, Independent Harry, Intelligent Harry, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Minor Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Possessive Tom Riddle, Powerful Harry, Slash, Slow Burn, Time Travel, Tom 'EQ nonexistent' Riddle, Tom Riddle is a Sweetheart, Tom is extremely uncomfortable, and thinks friendship is magic, but wait I'm not done, crashandburn.jpeg, yeah its back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-08-10 23:58:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parakeeet/pseuds/Parakeeet
Summary: Harry meets a snake well before getting his Hogwarts letter. Through said snake's advice, he makes one condemning wish and transports back in time to Tom Riddle's childhood.Or where Harry and Tom fill the missing parts of their childhood and start Hogwarts at age 16 (because that's n o r m a l)





	1. The Dursleys

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh, so disclaimers? Harry Potter isn’t mine, the timeline in this fiction doesn't actually match up with certain things in WWII (like when the Blitz actually started F), and I'm extremely unreliable in terms of following story plans. 
> 
> Oh, also speech in all italics is Parseltongue.

Harry dutifully wrapped his fingers around yet another weed and yanked, dirt exploding from the dry garden bed and onto his oversized t-shirt; yet another Dudley hand-me-down. The sun beat down onto every corner of #4 Privet Drive, to include, unfortunately, the front lawn of the Dursleys’ picturesque England home.

The malnourished eight-year-old wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, looking more like a garden hand than a resident of the middle-class neighborhood. Scrutinizing the finished garden bed, Harry picked apart the rows of flowers and shrubbery with narrowed eyes. He knew from experience that should even one unwanted sproutling disturb his aunt’s garden, he would be taken out to the backyard shed and imprisoned there for days.

What hurt most wasn't really the hunger--that he was used to. What coiled thickly in the pit of his stomach was that no one seemed to _need _him. Sure, Aunt Petunia yelled at him every morning with something to the effect of "If you don't cook breakfast, no one will!", but was Harry selfish to wish that his purpose in life was something a little more than a glorified cook?

On those rare occasions where he was allowed to sit at the breakfast table, his only family in the world looked straight through him as though he were a ghost, just like all the kids at the elementary school who feared that Dudley and his gang would turn on_ them_ instead. Even now during the summer, Dudley and his gang of menaces haunted him day in and day out. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that they and Uncle Vernon had disappeared to the zoo on this particular day—he didn’t think he had the patience for their antics today.

Satisfied that he hadn’t missed anything, Harry stood and began collecting the tools. Watering can—check. Hose—check. Snake…snake!? But indeed, there is was: a glistening green garden snake with a tail that looked as if it had been dipped in a bucket of oil, coiled rather possessively around his shovel.

Harry stared at it in silence, lips thinning and eyes void of emotion. If he was bitten, he most _definitely _wouldn’t be taken to the hospital—been there done that. They would press cold compresses onto his injuries and tell him to lay In the cupboard until he got better. And like the cherry on the top of some metaphorical sundae shitstorm, Uncle Vernon would turn purple yelling about the costs of medical bills and the garbage that was the British healthcare system. Because Harry was so _selfish _to have _hurt himself._

He decided to fish out the hose he held to gently prod the snake away-- maybe like a fellow snake friend to coax the other snake away. When the metal tip of the hose finally touched the languid snake, to Harry’s horror and (reluctantly, he would later admit) expectation, it reared up and hissed angrily.

_"Cursed humans! I should have drowned myself eons ago,"_

_“Oh, sorry. I just need the shovel. Sorry.” _Harry reflexively apologized, flinching away from the peeved snake. Said snake blinked slowly, then moved off the shovel and slithered towards him.

“_Speaker?" _The snake inquired, and Harry could have sworn it was smiling.

Harry responded with an awkward smile that didn't reach his eyes. _"The snake talks. The snake is talking to me. The fumes from the weed killer maybe?" _He mused as he retreated.

_“I do,” _The snake replied smoothly, _“Talk, that is. Or rather, you’re talking to me,”_

_"Right, that's…" _Harry glanced at the shovel and tried to determine how best to avoid the snake, grab his tools, and clear the game. "_That's right. Look over there," _He pointed at an indistinguishable location in the garden, far away from the shovel.

_"Where?" _The snake turned and, upon finding nothing, moved to turn back around.

_"No! There! Keep looking," _Harry called, already halfway to the shovel.

_"What, exactly, am I looking for, Speaker?" _The snake asked, still squinting into the distance.

"_Uh, I think I saw another snake there," _Harry replied, hoisting the shovel up onto his shoulders, "_Really…uh…slender, nice scales, a girl snake, I think," _

The snake turned back around with a huff and found Harry already climbing up the stairs to the house.

"_Wait, where goes you?" _Harry heard the snake call. He had beat the snake with the good old 'made you look'. If that wasn't a success he didn't know what was.

_***_

The next day, he was out in the garden again. He had made a point of avoiding the weed killer, and instead picked the dandelions poking out between the cracks in the pavement with his own strength.

_"Pleasant to see you outside again," _A familiar hiss sounded, and Harry's spine froze. He turned around to face the snake he had conned, a smile that looked more like a grimace marring his delicate face.

_"You as well," _Harry forced out through gritted teeth. He had deliberately avoided the weed killer today. Was it something else?

"_As you so hastily left the last time, I felt the need to follow up on our conversation," _It elaborated.

_"Right, um, what, exactly, did you want to talk about?"_

_"Nothing in particular, just wanted to catch up on the magic world. The last time I encountered a Speaker was eons ago,"_

Harry nodded like he understood. _"How old are you?"_

The snake laughed with a breath that sounded like someone sniffed in rapid succession._ "At least 200 summers, Speaker," _

_"Do snakes even live that long?'_

_"Magic snakes, yes. I've been sold and used and been on countless displays. I really shouldn't have chosen to live this long," _The snake said, still speaking in an amused tone that made Harry feel like a child.

"Of course you're magic," Harry mumbled to himself. Weed killer sure was potent. _"Do you have a name, by chance?"_

_"I have no concept of names, Speaker,"_

_"What does that…how…" _Here, Harry decided to give up._ "Ok, then do you have something you want to be called?" _

_"Supreme Master of All Living and De-" _

_"Listen, I'm called Harry. Harry Potter. And you could be?" _

_"Gary Cotte-"_

_"No," _Harry closed his eyes and gave him the first name he thought of. _"You can be Louis. Yes?"_

_"Louissss." _The snake enunciated. "_I am Louissss," _

_"Good," _Harry praised, beginning to find a little but of affection for the snake. _"You-"_

“HARRY!” The shrill voice of Aunt Petunia broke the silence. “Come inside, I need you to clean this mess!” The door slammed shut as she stepped back inside—according to her, her skin was much too sensitive for the afternoon heat.

_“You make lunch?" _Louis asked.

_“I have to. If I don’t…they, well…they beat me,” _Usually, Harry made excuses when presented with such questions, but he was talking to a snake, a magic snake that wasn't even real. What was there to lose?

_“Why do you not just…leave?”_

_“I can’t…it’s not that...look, I gotta go.” _Harry hoisted the rest of the tools up under his arms.

_“Harry,”_ Said boy turned back around. _“It is said, said by my parents and my parents’ parents, that tonight is a magical night. Perhaps if you wished upon the star—”_

“HARRY!”

_“Sorry, sorry, I gotta go”_ Harry whispered as the snake looked at him pointedly. Harry directed an apologetic grimace in its direction before yelling, “COMING!”

***

Now, five hours later, with palms red and aching from scrubbing the grease off of Uncle Vernon’s destroyed barbeque, Harry was almost certain that he had imagined the whole thing. But, nevertheless, curled up on the thin mattress in the living-hell-under-the-stairs, Harry remembered Louis's mysterious words: “Perhaps if you wished upon the star—”

_The _star? What star? And even if he wished, he couldn’t see the sky under the stairs, much less “the” star! Harry stuck his palms under his armpits and shivered as the sun set and the last rays of daylight seeped in through the crack under the door. He wanted to be anywhere but here…if only whoever had left him on the doorstep had taken him in instead!

“I wish…" He already felt ridiculous, “I was somewhere needed,” Seconds passed and his face reddened. Of course, nothing would happen! That cursed weed killer!

Harry turned over on his side and shoved him head into the threadbare blankets with embarrassment, and then something unfamiliar sparked in his gut. Suddenly, the world seemed to spin in shades of blue and gray, and the fabric of the pillow pressing up against his face disappeared.

And then it all turned to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> So that was short but that’s because this was initially just a prologue. Other chapters (if they ever appear) will be much much much longer. 
> 
> Also please comment, I beseech you. Next chapter will see the appearance of our favoritist angsty evil bOi.


	2. Wool's Orphanage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you all it'd be longer yayayay

Harry woke up face down on another pillow, and fleetingly he feared that the wish had never been granted and the whole thing was a dream--The Great Gatsby, but this time he was just the Great Moron. Fortunately, his senses crept back and he noted that the pillow he lay on was indeed not the pillow he was used to. No, this one was not a scratchy fabric but rather a smooth linen.

He breathed in deeply and turned over. Bad decision. Harry was immediately blinded by the setting sun, its bright rays streaming in through the window. If he squinted, he could make out the outlines of a bustling city outside. He had really teleported elsewhere! In his head, Louis gained a full 10 goodwill points.

Giddy with happiness, Harry sat up and adjusted his glasses to look around the room. It was rather plain, he noted disappointedly, containing but the bed and a lone chair.

“Hello?” He tried, expecting nothing. The door burst open so quickly and with so much force that Harry almost jumped out of his skin and backed up against the metal headboard.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” He repeated, heart thudding his throat, fingers clenched in tight fists around the sheets.

“You’re awake,” The woman noted, ignoring his reaction. She wore a floral beige dress and appeared to be rather large, not larger than Uncle Vernon but large nevertheless. “What’s your name? You an orphan?”

Harry calmed his erratic breathing and rationalized the situation. He wasn’t with the Dursleys anymore-- this was a fresh start, a new person! He felt a hot flash of anger at the lingering effects of living at the hand of their abuse. “I’m Harry Potter. I…” He briefly considered what to tell her. He hadn’t even thought about giving her a different name and he fleetingly wondered if that was dangerous. “Yes, I’m an orphan,” He concluded.

The woman sighed loudly and stared at him with a mixture of loathing and exasperation. “Of course you are,” She turned to the ceiling and muttered “And I told them that we were packed full like a can of war sardines but no!” before looking back at him pointedly. “Well, welcome to Wool’s Orphanage, finest establishment in London!” She cackled to herself. “I’m the director of this shithole, it’s Mrs. Cole to you,”

She beckoned for him to follow her out of the room and Harry did. The orphanage was probably the oldest place Harry had ever set foot in, which was an accomplishment considering his elementary school classroom had been built in 1950. It was a dark and gloomy place, with crumbling gray stone walls and water-stained stairs.

She led him up the nearest flight and stopped in front of the last door along the corridor. It was the only door without a scatter of chalk graffiti. She knocked sharply and then pushed the firmly shut the door open.

“Tom!” The room was gray like the rest of the orphanage and distinctly bare of any personality. Harry’s only experience with a bedroom was Dudley’s, and on the few occasions that he had seen it, it was always littered with hundreds of toys and posters of his latest obsession. One lean boy sat on the cot to the right, writing furiously in a book.

Said boy turned around slowly, putting a marker in whatever journal he was keeping and shutting it. “You have a new roommate,” Mrs. Cole pushed Harry into the shadowed room and laughed again. "Tom might be a bit of a psychopath but he'll treat you well. Just make sure you lick his shoes before bed." Harry's eyes widened a fraction at the words, whirling around at the slam of the door behind him.

Tom stepped towards him, his eyes entirely void of anything but the mildest of pleasantries. “Tom Riddle. Pleased to meet you,” He spoke, voice smooth and certain.

Harry’s eyes widened, noting how different the boy seemed from anyone else he had met his age. This Tom Riddle, slightly taller than his own height, wore the trademark fraying clothing with a confidence that made him appear far superior to anyone else. His hair, a deep brown, was perfectly combed—so opposite to the untamed mess of black locks that Harry sported. When Harry didn’t respond immediately, those maroon eyes narrowed slightly, almost imperceptivity had Harry not been searching his face.

“Oh, right, Harry. Harry Potter,” Harry spoke, outstretching his hand. Tom took it, his grip firm and minutely painful. The hand retracted almost seconds afterwards, and then Tom gestured to the bed opposite his.

Harry walked slowly to the cot, a smile curling at his lips at the familiar scenario. Another thin mattress, another threadbare blanket, only this time he had a companion! So what if Tom was a psychopath? Harry had spent the first eight years of his life living with the scum of the earth! Harry looked to Tom, hoping to converse before bed, but was sorely disappointed to find that the boy had already disappeared underneath his blankets.

The days passed, and still Tom refused to say more than the occasional distant, blunt answer to his probing questions. Harry’s wishes for a friend quickly disappeared down the drain and he stopped trying altogether.

Weeks passed, and Harry slowly adjusted to a new routine. Each day was the same: wake up, do whatever chore he was assigned for the day, then spend the days trailing Tom or reading beside him. Mrs. Cole proved to be a kind old woman, even if she didn’t really show it. Despite her abrasive ways and frequent mumblings of "those goddamn Germans" (low rations, "the Germans!", child fell down the stairs, "those cursed Germans!") she never beat him nor made him cook meals, and to Harry that was enough.

Months passed, but no one came to adopt any of the children. According to Ms. Cole’s increasingly vocal complaints, the war had stifled what she called her “orphan economy” and “no one’s coming for kids when they’re leaving for overseas and scrounging around for food like the rest of us.”

On a rare occasion, some rich benefactor would come around to offer them gifts and candies. They would all line up in the foyer to receive their gifts and then obsess about them together in their rooms.

Despite the close community among the children here, Harry quickly realized that the other orphanage kids avoided Tom at all cost and couldn’t help but wonder why. Mrs. Cole had claimed he was a psychopath, but to Harry Tom was just an introverted loner. Because they shared a room the kids avoided him too, leaving Tom as the only other companion, a "companion" who would also ignore his presence. There just wasn’t anyway around it—the reality was that Tom had virtually zero interest in talking to him.

Nevertheless, Harry didn’t regret the wish he made. The orphanage, scarily enough, was marginally better than his home with the Dursleys. As days turned into weeks, he read far more than he ever had in the elementary schools, back then where he could only focus on what underhanded blow Dudley would deal to him,

The local library supplied the orphanage with new books every week as a charity project, taking back the old ones and adding the new to the little bookshelf outside of Mrs. Cole’s room. The books were far too advanced for the general child audience of the orphanage, but Harry devoured everything that came in, getting better at inferring what certain words and phrases meant as he went. Ms. Cole had informed him that the books used to be closer to their age range but they had long since lost the ability to be picky since the war. Once, Machiavelli's The Prince cycled through and Harry noticed that Tom never returned it. Now he was convinced that Tom was a psychopath.

Tom read most of the time, except in the unusual cases where he disappeared and no matter how hard Harry searched, he couldn’t find him. Harry mostly spent that time searching for snakes. After his wish had been granted, Harry’s cynicism that Louis was a reality decreased to about 50%. And 50% was chance enough that he would try to prove it.

It had now been close to three months and Harry still hadn’t found a single snake, talking or otherwise. Now, ankle deep in the mud pit that the orphanage garden had become, a product of the recent rainstorm, Harry pulled aside plants looked inside bushes for a familiar slither.

“How is this even possible?” Harry groaned to himself, a habit he had picked up over the months of having no one to talk to. “There has to be one single snake in this garden,” He peered inside the compost bin just to be sure and sighed when the only thing remotely snake-like was a coil of coffee grounds. “It’s been a year, come on!”

And indeed, a year had come and gone. Harry was now 10, and no closer to finding anything remotely close to Louis's wit. They had probably all gotten scared off by the distant bombs and gunshots.

Tired and caked in mud, Harry decided to call it a day. He trudged out of the garden and began the slow trek back around to the front of the orphanage, except suddenly, a blaring alarm split the usual silence in two.

Goosebumps erupted down his pale arms as the orphanage, and its surrounding businesses, erupted in chaos.

Parents screamed for their kids and raced down the street, and merchants and business owners alike began ransacking their own stores for valuables. Mrs. Cole appeared at the doorstep, carrying two infants and leading the ten kids of the orphanage in tow, and began briskly walking out the front gate, issuing orders to the oldest kids.

She quickly spotted Harry, wide eyed and frozen beside the compost bin. “Harry! Come quickly, there’s to be an air raid! We’re going to the bomb shelter!”

Harry’s legs thawed and he raced to her side. It began to sprinkle again, and fat raindrops burst up and down the pavement. “Mrs. Cole!” He yelled over the roar of commotion and the blare of the alarm.

“Harry! Get in line!” She snapped.

Harry nodded with fear, legs stiff as he followed the other orphans out of the gate. They plodded on in two lines behind Ms. Cole, following the stream of panicked people to the shelter.

They stopped walking after five minutes, stopping with the crowd of people slowing down to go underground. The shelter was in the London Tube-- this district wasn't afforded the luxury of having actual "air raid shelters" as some of the better areas had.

Harry looked around to see where Tom was, head swinging left and right along the orphans to spot a glimpse of that familiar brown hair and regal poise. He became increasingly more panicked when he realized-- Tom wasn't here.

Dread, cold and creeping, welled up his spine and sent hot flares a realization crawling down his nervous system. Tom wasn't there!

“Mrs. Cole! Where’s Tom?” Her face froze for a moment and then she shook her head wildly and continued down the stairs.

“It’s too late for that boy! There’s no time to spare!” Harry stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her receding figure. He was pushed to the side of the street by the orphans running after her, and he landed hard on his knees, scraping them badly. But all he could think was Tom. Tom! Where was he?

The rain transformed into a downpour, and Harry got to his feet quickly despite the sting of his wounded knees. He wasn't a hero, but he couldn't leave him. He would find Tom, and they would survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what, I can actually do things if I try. Too bad motivation wells up like once every 300 days. 
> 
> ((((i like comments. please comment. it encourages me to write more. ))))


	3. The Air Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is a reckless baby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I really just updated three days in a row. Don't expect this in the future hahaha. 
> 
> SO, trigger warning if you were ever a victim of the Blitz...I really cranked up the trauma in this one...or tried to I don't know how to write who am I kidding. 
> 
> Also, I don't have a beta, and this chapter is kinda longer (over three times the length of the first), so if there are any mistakes just let me know.

Harry raced back to the orphanage, dodging past the flow of people running in the exact opposite direction. He was pushed and shoved hard enough to bruise but he kept going, gritting his teeth against the pain of his scraped knees; wounds that opened every time he flexed his leg.

The blaring alarm was still going off, and Harry remembered Mrs. Cole saying that should as air raid occur, the alarm wouldn't shut off until it ended.

But, Harry thought, what if he couldn't find Tom? It had been a year since he'd first come to the orphanage and the Dursley's were but a distant memory. In all that time, Harry has never been able to find Tom when he disappeared like that. He had tried and tried and had eventually given up-- what was to say he would find him now? Maybe he was already at the shelter! And Harry would just die by himself, and he would never see Tom again, never be able to make friends with him!

Rain pelted down harder, making the road slippery and dangerous. Harry yelped with pain as he fell yet again and forced himself back on his feet. Tears started to mingle with the water dripping down his face, and he grabbed the stupid glasses clouding his vision and threw them to the ground.

Strangely, his vision was crystal clear and better than it had ever been.

He once again recalled that air raid instruction class the orphanage had had nearly three months ago. 15 minutes. 15 minutes after the alarm was the general time frame given for evacuation before the bombs actually hit.

By the time he banged open the front gate and ran up the stairs to the orphanage, Harry estimated that he had about 5 minutes to find Tom, and another 5 minutes to run back-- although he doubted he'd be able to run at full speed again. If worst came to worst, he'd tell Tom to get to shelter without him.

Nodding in affirmation, Harry caught his breath before throwing the front door open and yelling at the top of his lungs. "TOM!" His voice, with how desperate his lungs were for air, came out shrill and in one giant breath. But, Harry knew that it was the loudest he had ever screamed in his life.

"Harry?" Harry looked to his left and found a bewildered Tom sitting cross legged on the floor, perfectly fine and surrounded entirely by snakes. Snakes slithered up and down Tom's tunic--snakes of every size and shape and color. They wrapped around the hands in his lap, rested at his feet, and circled around his thighs.

Harry couldn't stop staring, a mixture of awe and pure malice drowning his rationality. Tom! Right there! Right as rain and looking awfully comfortable with that giant python wrapped around his neck! Tom stared right back at him, sitting wide-eyed on the stone floor while Harry gasped for breath dripping equal parts blood and water onto the floor. Harry, who never got angry, very nearly had an aneurysm right then and there in the foyer.

"The snakes, that's where they went," was all he managed to whisper over the angry roar of blood in his head and the continuous wail of the siren. His voice, even to him, sounded monotonous and empty, as if a shard of his soul had been sucked right out and replaced with a torch.

"Just what," Tom growled, standing up and shaking the snakes off of his arms. "Are you doing here,"

And then the torch was lit and his head exploded.

"What am I doing here? What am I doing here! You tell me you good-for-nothing, two-faced, lying, selfish, sheep-skinned absolute...Claude Frollo!" Harry finished, getting more and more worked up with every insult. Tom's eyes widened minutely, his anger ebbing to astonishment. He definitely understood the reference, as The Hunchback of Notre Dame had cycled through the orphanage's library just last week.

Harry paused for a moment to breathe, using the door frame as a crutch for his wheezing body. "I came back for you thinking you didn't know about the alarm or were trapped or...or something and you're just sitting here perfectly fine! And you stole the snakes!" Harry was already out of breath when he started, and now he was even more so. He collapsed to his knees with exhaustion and bent over, his head almost touching the ground.

"Didn't know about the alarm? It's so loud it sounds like the end of the fucking world you moron!" It was more words than Tom had ever spoken to him, but they weren't filled with malice. It seemed Tom's anger, much like Harry's, had succumbed to a triage of other emotions. "You came back for me?" Tom added, voice weird with unfamiliar sentiment.

"Why are you even here?" Harry breathed, reduced to using the sensation of the cool stone as a way to calm himself. His blood pressure must be off the charts by now.

"I...can't tell you,"

"Does it even matter? I ran back here for you and now we're both gonna die." Tom didn't answer, and Harry took that as a yes, it mattered. Harry sighed for the millionth time and sat back up. "Well, can you at least tell me why you took all the snakes? You owe me,"

Tom settled back down on the ground, avoiding the puddles of blood water and unsure about how to feel about Harry, Harry who had flown through the door, eyes unthinkably green and black hair plastered to his delicate features.

The problem was, and unthinkably so, that they weren't going to die. This meant that anything he told the boy would be for life. But then again, Harry had raced back for him without a thought towards his own safety. Maybe a repayment of debt was in order.

"I can speak to them," Tom said. And then time, for Harry at least, stopped. His mouth gasped open and he stared at Tom in astonishment.

"You what," Harry forced out through the limp flesh that was his tongue. Here, Tom was the one who sighed. This was the exact reaction he had envisioned if he told anyone about one of his powers. Amazement, followed by disbeli- "I can too!"

"I'm sorry?" Tom wondered if maybe the boy was crazy. It was certainly insanity to go search for a boy you barely knew during an air raid. 

Harry's eyes practically glistened with excitement as he leaned forward, coming closer to a very uncomfortable(TM) Tom.

"I've been wanting to try it again but there were," Harry emphasized the next three words sharply, "No. Actual. Snakes." The anger was welling up again but Harry pushed it back down.

"I-" Tom began, but Harry didn't stick around to listen, eager to prove his power-- both to himself and to Tom.

"Hello," He greeted the nearest snake, a black little guy, and there it was! That familiar slippery language that came so naturally to his tongue.

"Greetings speaker!" The young snake piped up, happy to be recognized. Harry smirked and settled back down, giving Tom a pointed look.

A thousand questions ran through Tom's mind, but he, unlike a certain someone, knew how to discern time and place. There was an actual air raid heading in, and the likelihood of getting bombed but not high, but it was also far from low. It was in that split second thought that he decided to tell Harry what he was doing. He knew that once he began, he would rather it not be interrupted.

"I'm concentrating on my magic to create a forcefield around myself and these snakes," The foreign words ran through Harry's mind without making any sense, ricocheting off the pillar of sensory overload that was growing in his head.

"Out of the kindness of your soul?" Harry said, at the same time that Tom elaborated,

"To test my power."

Harry scoffed, "I should have known,"

"I have magic. I'm using it to protect me and the snakes from the bombs. And now you, I suppose," Tom ignored him, something he had lots of practice in doing, Harry noted bitterly. Tom closed his eyes to begin concentrating again, but if he had believed that that answer would be sufficient to Harry, he was sorely wrong.

"Magic," Harry repeated.

"Magic," Tom affirmed.

"And you called me the idiot," Harry spoke up, kicking Tom's shin several times with his shoe.

Tom didn't open his eyes. "The correct terminology was moron, and the point still stands."

Harry glared, "And if your magic isn't enough to stop the blow?"

"Then it will be apparent that I was weak and deserved to die. This is my first real challenge,"

Harry scowled and shook his head, "Everyone deserves to live, even if they're weak,"

"No one will care if I am gone. That is why I must become someone respected, someone feared," Tom said this matter of factly, without a hint of sadness of regret. Somehow, this only fueled Harry's emotion, as if his heart wanted to compensate for the other boy's sheer lack of one.

"You fucking moron, you incompetent selfish- I CARE!" Harry shouted, and then he jerked his head away from Tom's wide eyes as he realized what he had said. "But, whatever. We can work on your human skills later. Start meditating or whatever it is you were doing,"

"I am not meditating," Tom finally said, and when Harry next looked, his eyes were once again shuttered and his breathing rhythmic.

The first bomb hit. It was farther away, but definitely nearby, and louder than even the alarm-- 15 minutes must have passed. Harry jumped and unconsciously inched closer to Tom before noticing and scooting back away scowling. He would not cower.

"Harry, come closer. I can't protect you if you're that far away," Tom called, eyes still shut and brow furrowed. Harry agreed and came back, keeping a safe three inches distance between them.

It was then that the protective field was made visible-- it glistened silver and airy, becoming more and more compact. Harry positively gaped, his eyes refusing to blink as he witnessed the impossible. Tentatively, he reached out to touch it, and the shield felt firm but malleable under his fingers.

The next bursts were in sets if threes, and Harry no longer had any time to ponder his cowardice as he feared for his life. He put his head between his knees and waited, trying to drown out the noise.

"They're coming!" Tom yelled in warning, and tremors ran up and down the orphanage as the planes swooped down low and growled across the sky.

The windowpanes erupted first. And then the corner of the stone walls of the orphanage blew completely off. Harry nearly went deaf from the noise and pressed himself to the floor. Tom remained where he was seated, concentrating on keeping the shield intact as it repelled shard after shard of glass and stone debris.

Now, sitting in the foyer without a roof, Harry could see the ruins that London had become. The charming store fronts and outdoor vendors where in ashes, the remaining portions being eaten by rows upon rows of fire. Debris choked the streets, ash and dust rising into the air, thick and sulfurous.

Like some sort of estranged symphony, the whistles as the bombs fell and the explosions once they landed, coupled with the rain and the siren and the roar of the planes fueled enough material to last every nightmare for the rest of Harry's life. It also made it visibly harder for Tom to concentrate on the shield, as Harry watched the boy bite his lip raw until it bled.

This went on for a solid hour, and though the bombs only landed near them once more after that, Tom held the shield up for the duration. Ears ringing, Harry could do nothing but watch the boy sit frozen and struggle, eyes squeezed shut and breathing no longer the steady pace that it had started at. When the second bomb landed in the garden, barbed ends of wire from the surrounding fence came hurtling at them at top speeds, straight through the walls that no longer existed. One managed to slip through a weaker part of the shield and pierced Tom's shoulder, and it was then that an involuntary gasp began a torrent of tears. Harry positively sobbed, completely useless in this unfamiliar ground and entirely too afraid to think about it.

Tom hadn't moved or even screamed, the only indication of the wound the way his face went a ghostly pale white, as if all the blood had been drained out of every orifice. Tom collapsed then, the shield flickering out of existence along with his consciousness.

Harry instinctively cried out with fear, the crisis jolting him into action as he crawled over to the boy and tried to staunch the bleeding of Tom's arm, finally mustering up the courage to remove the imbedded shrapnel. He ripped off a portion of his shirt, realized that the wet material would do nothing to keep the blood in Tom's arms--where blood was supposed to be--and then ripped Tom's dry shirt and wrapped the cloth around as a bandage.

The parts of the wall that had broken off around them had conveniently left a small shadowed alcove under which to remain unseen, and so Harry half-dragged, half-carried Tom to the area, collapsing onto the floor afterwards.

The siren chose that opportune moment to stop, and the relief Harry felt was so strong that he leaned over the crumbling remains of the wall and emptied his stomach.

Wiping wetness off of his face, Harry sat under the pattering of the rain and tried to rid himself of the acid taste in his mouth. He couldn't look at Tom, Tom who liked to read and ignore him but was the only companion Harry had in the world, Tom who currently lay on his side embedded with shrapnel, Tom who wasn't moving. 

It was while he sat there, gnawing on his lip and on the verge of a new wave of tears as he tried to figure out what to do, that he saw another plane.

It was probably the last one, as the sky that was previously clear was dotted with one harbinger of doom, silent and black as it sank lower and lower. Harry's breath caught in his throat as it swooped by overhead and the bombs dropped.

He watched them fall directly above them, like oversized metal raindrops, with an odd sort of tranquility. Everything had slowed down and the world was muted, a sort of demure peace overcoming him--feelings that he had never once felt, thoughts he had never once thought.

Harry very nearly succumbed to the temptation of an eternal peace, an eternal silence. But, as he went to lay back and watch death come, he came in contact with Tom's cold hand, and then as he followed that hand to the body--ripped up shirt and all--and to a familiar face, Harry came to.

The world started moving again, and the bombs fell closer and closer. What was he doing! Accept death? Was he to become a martyr? Harry screamed then, a terrible, wailing thing that escaped from him on instinct, and fell upon Tom, covering the taller boy with his own body as much as he could.

They couldn't die! They couldn't!

And the world exploded with light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I'm sorry, I physically can't end not end on a cliffhanger.
> 
> To those of you who wanted Intelligent!Harry, understand that he's only 10 and character development will hit like a truck. 
> 
> Tom too-- this Tom is baby Tom (and I'm really into emotionally insecure baby Tom) so I may be milking this a littttlleee too much. 
> 
> Oh, and I know I know I know-- there are like twenty million questions hanging in the air between Tom and Harry rn but these will be resolved in the next chapter I promise.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always! Please comment, I crave validation through feedback and public acceptance.


	4. Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Tom finally get around to discussing some stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter is officially UPPPP. Let's getitttt
> 
> Oh, also the chapters have names now, so that's a thing.

The blow never came, and neither did death. All around him, Tom, and the snakes, a silver shield of light, twice as brilliant as Tom's had been, burst out of Harry's body like a set of wings.

The incoming bombs were deflected to their sides, exploding but never injuring the little space that the shield surrounded. Harry looked up in awe as shudders of something otherworldly ran up and down his body, the shield flexing and growing bright as the sun.

For the first time ever, Harry felt _good_. The aches around his neck and ribs from never healed beatings disappeared, as did the scars lining his palms and knees. What could only be magic filled his every nerve with a pulsating sort of power.

Tom, suddenly feeling his health drain back and his wounds close, realized his heartbeat again. He slowly opened his eyes and could do nothing but squint and stare as Harry stood in front of him, back turned away but radiating a light sphere that filled him with equal parts of warmth and shock.

Pieces of wall and dirt and everything in between flew up through the air around them and Harry stood in the center of it-- like the beautifully calm eye of a magical hurricane. As the last German plane, the origin of this chaos, disappeared past the horizon, the debris collapsed to the ground and with it, so did Harry.

Tom, now on his knees, couldn't breathe. For years he had searched for someone like himself and Harry had been there all along.

***

Harry, for what it was worth, awoke feeling wonderful, laying on the same bed on which he had arrived. Magic thrummed underneath his skin and he felt _right_. Harry stretched, his limbs feeling supple and-- for lack of better words-- like they actually _fit_ him. His body wasn't an awkward sort of fit that he had assumed was the norm since he could remember. Did everyone feel like this?

It was like the morning after the most terrific rest, a rest that also erased every scar and remnant of beating off of his skin. Oddly enough, the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead remained.

Looking around, Harry noted the smooth linen of the bed, the stone walls, the single chair. For a moment, Harry fearfully considered the possibility that time had turned back to the moment he had arrived at the orphanage. But, just as quickly as the fears came, they were dispelled. It was the same room, the same furniture, but this time, the chair was occupied by a certain boy reading a thick encyclopedia.

It was occupied by a certain Tom, to be exact, long legs crossed one over the other and eyes narrowed as he studied a particularly large diagram of the human body. Harry had never felt more happiness seeing a person in his life.

"Tom," Harry said, wincing as his voice came out dry and breathy.

Immediately, said boy darted his eyes to him, those red-brown orbs widening with an unknown emotion. Before he could say anything more, the door opened and Mrs. Cole entered in a rush of skirts and curious children. While Harry clutched his head in bouts of deja vu, Mrs. Cole breathed a sigh of relief at his awake state before her piercing blue eyes found his face.

"You! Finally you're awake, and Christ, after three days! It's a Christmas miracle!" No one dared to point out that it was April. 

"Three days?" Harry answered, bewildered. If Tom was in the room and Mrs. Cole was somehow piqued, what had he possibly done? Mrs. Cole didn't give him much time to ponder it.

"You foolish, foolish child!" She growled, gripping the sides of his face a little too hard. "Running off to save Tom of all people! In the middle of an air raid! Did those lessons teach you nothing? You're lucky both of you weren't hurt, lest you be in a far greater world of trouble," She shook her head and ushered the curious orphans back through the door. "Come see me if any illnesses arise," She said before leaving herself--Mrs. Cole had never been one for small talk.

"I see you're awake," Tom said the instant the door closed, snapping his book shut and standing. Harry kept quiet-- the air raid? The air raid!

He threw back the bed covers and stepped down onto the stone floor barefoot. And then, as if the cold of the floor had jumpstarted his memory, all of the rest of the events of the air raid came rushing back to him: the snakes, the bombs, magic, Tom!

As soon as he remembered, his legs seemed to move on their own accord and suddenly Harry was collapsing into Tom at full speed. Harry wrapped his arms around the taller boy and held on tightly, burying his head into Tom's neck and nearly crying with relief. The other boy smelled like their room, something akin to cloves and rain; the closest thing to home.

The other boy didn't move, almost freezing at the sudden close proximity. Eventually, Tom's hands came up and wrapped around Harry's body with equal voracity.

"I thought we were dead," Harry mumbled into Tom's shoulder, inhaling the crisp scent of his loose but clean shirt. Tom, who Harry had never seen willingly touch another person, began petting the back of his head, threading his fingers through the ends of Harry's black locks.

"No, thanks to you,"

"Thanks to both of us," Harry corrected, giving a small smile as he sniffed and detached himself from Tom's arms. Tom considered this for a moment, before nodding and taking Harry's wrist.

"Come, we need to discuss a few things," Harry allowed himself to be pulled out of the room and out into the hall...or what remained of it. Just as Harry remembered, the walls were completely gone, crumbling to the ground in more places than not.

The sky was grayer than Harry remembered, what with the pillars of smoke that rose up from fires yet to be extinguished. In total, London was trashed. Despite most buildings being intact in some part, the damage was excessive and ruinous. Now, people milled around the streets in various states of despair as they examined their destroyed livelihoods.

The orphanage itself was still operational, if only some parts of it. Tom quickly and quietly informed him of the ruined portions: the front and left hallway, the foyer, the garden, the kitchen. Harry also saw visible proof of his words as Tom led him through the rubble and up the stairs to their shared bedroom.

Out of the blue, the magic thrumming under his skin rushed to his feet and he was propelled two feet into the air, his neck jerking with the suddenness. Harry have a small yelp as he rose, floating in the air for a good five seconds before crashing back down. Dizzy and slightly nauseous, Harry used a shocked and slightly concerned Tom to pull himself, also shocked and frankly terrified, back upright. At Tom's question-filled stare, Harry motioned to the door behind which other children played. They couldn't risk being overheard.

Orphans ran amuck, far more numerous than Harry remembered. More had probably been admitted after the air raid.

This time, instead of ignoring them entirely, they stared with shock as they watched Tom finally acknowledge Harry, Harry who they had watched trail the loner boy for upwards of a year. They stared as Tom pulled Harry up the stairs and through the door of the last room on the corridor, eyes zoning in on Tom's slender fingers wrapped tightly around Harry's wrist.

As the door closed shut behind them, Tom released his grip on Harry's wrist, sitting down on his bed. Harry did the same on the bed across from him. Tom waved his hand and a magical field appeared, a barrier to sound that Harry acknowledged without question. By this point, he knew Tom was far more advanced in the magic than he, an amateur.

"You came back for me," Tom began rather abruptly, an echo of his sentiment from the air raid.

"Of course I came back for you," Harry dropped his voice, "Why did you stay behind without telling anyone!"

Tom glanced to the side looking fairly uncomfortable. And it was then that Harry finally realized that Tom had probably, much like him, never had anyone that cared. Cared about his wellbeing, about whether or not he lived or died-- the situation hit all too close to home.

"I was testing myself, testing to see how powerful my magic was. I did not realize that you…" Tom turned to the side and then back at him with uncertainty. "That you…" He dropped his gaze again. "Cared," He finished lamely. "My strength was clearly not enough. I…_apologize_," He said thickly, the words enunciated with the difficulty of someone who did not apologize frequently.

Harry stared before finding himself again; smiling reassuringly. The other boy's emotional battles were uniquely endearing. "Thank you," Harry said honestly. "We were fine, and I also...unlocked? My magic?" Tom's eyes snapped back to him at the word. "So no harm no foul," Harry concluded, nodding his head for emphasis.

Tom examined his expression for a moment; a miniature politician, and Harry sat there attempting to convey sincerity in his eyes. Tom finally changed the subject.

"Yes, your magic," He began. Raising a hand, he pointed to the encyclopedia he had just been reading-- some scientific one that Harry had not yet read nor seen-- and gestured up with his fingers.

The book flew. Or rather, levitated, Harry later corrected. He watched in awe as Tom effortlessly beckoned and the book obeyed, floating to him gently.

"Can you do that?" Tom didn't ask meanly, but more as an inquiry; a test of waters. Harry stared at him pointedly.

"I'll take that as a no," Tom smiled. _Smiled_. It wasn't the cold ones he gave the charity representatives either, but a specially genuine one just for him. It was a strange feeling that welled up in Harry's chest when he saw the slight curve of Tom's lips--a feeling of warmth that thrummed in tune with the magic now flowing unblocked through his nervous system. No one had ever smiled at him before, aside from the occasional polite smirks from his teachers, or the pitying simpers of the ladies that sometimes came to the orphanage and handed out candies.

"No," Harry affirmed, still slightly basking in the afterglow of being the first recipient of Tom's rare smiles.

"But you can talk to snakes and float and make healing, repelling shields during air raids,"

"The snakes part yes, but the floating thing was an accident, and I don't know how I shielded us that time," Harry amended.

"You really don't know how you did that? It was the greatest feat of magic I've ever seen,"

Harry hummed thoughtfully before answering. "Well, I'd never done magic before that point-- talking to snakes doesn't count, does it? It's not really magic, just speaking a language," When Tom shook his head, he continued. "I'm not lying when I say that I don’t know how it happened. Maybe it was a desperate adrenaline kind of thing? Now in the aftermath, I feel this magic running though me, like sparks are ready to fly out of my fingers any minute. That time I fell, the magic rushed forward randomly and I crashed,"

Tom opened his mouth to ask another question but Harry cut him off. "My turn. Why did you ignore me for a year?"

Tom raised a brow. "Out of all the questions you probably have, you ask that one?"

Harry frowned and rested back against the headboard, "It was a year, Tom! And all I wanted was someone to talk to!"

"There were...let's see...12 now, but before, exactly 8 other children you could have socialized with,"

"You know very well that they all avoided me because they avoid you...speaking of which, why do they do that?"

"Avoid me? I made an example of one of them, the details of which I won't digress. Let's stick to one question at a time," Tom said.

"All right, fine. Why did you ignore me?"

"It has to be that question?" Harry nodded adamantly. "You won't like the answer." Harry shrugged and waited patiently. Eventually, Tom sighed. "I can't form an attachment to everyone I meet, Harry. Orphans are a dime in a dozen--they come and go. I've never interacted with any to this extent, I'll add, if it consoles you any,"

Harry was consoled, to his annoyance. "But now?" He asked.

"What about now?" Tom asked, strangely defensively.

"Now we can...have conversations? Do things together?"

Tom was silent for a moment. "Well, you already know about the magic, the snakes; most things. So I suppose,"

"Then you'll tell me where you disappear off to when I'm not looking?"

"It _was _extremely difficult to slip away from you," Tom laughed, remembering, much to Harry's chagrin. "I was in the garden,"

"Lies!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up suddenly and tackling an unsuspecting Tom face-up on the bed. Another startled laugh was forced out though Tom's lips, and Harry crowed in victory. "I looked everywhere in this bloody orphanage! And I know you're not in the garden because _I'm_ in the garden! Searching for snakes!"

"Not _this_ garden!" Tom insisted, pushing Harry off of him. "There's a hidden garden behind the shed. I speak with snakes and have been practicing magic there since you've moved in,"

Harry frowned. "And I looked for you for so long," He said sadly. Harry crossed his legs and looked at Tom, "So, how do we have magic then?"

Tom's brow furrowed and he shook his head. "I don't know. I hadn't met anyone else who had the ability before you,"

"There's no school of magic? Nothing?"

"Not that I know of," Tom replied, and Harry's hopes dried and shriveled. He hopped to his feet to go back to his own bed and vanished.

Tom was left sitting on the bed, slightly perturbed.

Harry, on the other hand, found himself skinning his elbows rather meanly as he slid across the floor, now downstairs and in an empty kitchen. Sucking in a short, annoyed breath through his teeth, Harry ran down the hall and took the stairs back up to their room two at a time. He stumbled back in through the door and fell face down onto his bed.

"Kitchen," He mumbled in response to Tom's pointed gaze. Harry felt a tingling in his arms as Tom raised a glowing palm, and slowly but surely, the angry red marks on his elbows faded.

Harry examined the newly knit flesh and, impressed, looked back up at Tom.

"Can you teach me?"

Tom contemplated his request before slowly nodding.

***

In the days following , Harry fell into a new routine, but this time with Tom.

In the mornings, they finished their chores separately-- Harry usually on sweeping duty and Tom, partly due to his intellectual prowess but mostly because of his antisocial and difficult nature, was tasked with filing new and old books through the orphanage library. Afterwards, if there weren't any special events in order, they alternated between reading and practicing magic.

The kids at the orphanage soon realized that Harry and Tom's relationship had drastically changed. Eventually, even the newer orphans knew the latest gossip: Harry and Tom now came in a pair.

It was a Sunday when Sister Mary arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Next chapter will probably be in as soon as I get around to it, like always. Buckle your seatbelts guys because Sister Mary is coming for your kids.
> 
> Plz comment they encourage me ok bye I love you all.


	5. Sister Mary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nun appears and stuff happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one kinda got a little long and now I've messed up my chapter plans but oh well. 
> 
> Thanks to all that commented! It's honestly my only motivation to upload.

Harry sat on the back of his calves, kneeling on the floor as he listened intently to Tom’s instruction.

“Levitation is fairly simple. Think your magic a tree, and then branch out to what you are levitating, like this,” Tom reached out and gently lifted the book a few inches off of the ground.

Harry narrowed his eyes and breathed. Slowly but surely, he could feel his magic reaching out; magic that he usually kept contained within the bare fibers of his skin. It was an overeager, infant thing, excited to finally be _doing_ something after being restrained for 8 years.

He could see it—opaque and shimmering as it was—flatlining towards the book, but then it began to spread. Harry shook with effort, trying to reign the magic back in, trying to keep it under control, but there was just _so much_. It breached through the small gateway he had opened and began draining out and filling the room with the same force that one might achieve if they poked a hole into a bottle of water. Or rather, into the side of an ocean.

Tom, suddenly overwhelmed with sheer magical energy humming and buzzing in the air, unleashed his own. Harry immediately felt the presence of Tom’s magic, an entity entirely different from his own. While Harry’s magic whirled and roared, intense as it tried to destroy the walls with its strength, Tom’s curled up in slender but strong tendrils, snaking around his magic and taming it with a cool touch. Harry shivered as Tom’s magic forced his own to retreat back, the book lying forgotten on the floor.

Once he had sealed the magic back up, Harry lay back against the floor, thoroughly overcome with lassitude. The magic tried to escape his skin one last time after he put a stopper to it, and the force of it as it collectively ramming up against his small body made flames suddenly erupt, licking the (thankfully) stone floor.

“Strange. My own magic was not nearly as chaotic as yours,” Tom pondered, waving his hand and extinguishing the fire. “Let’s try again,”

Harry groaned.

Throughout the days following, Tom and Harry practiced and practiced and practiced some more. When Harry was too exhausted to continue, Tom shoved a book into his hand and they read for hours on end. Over time, Harry was able to perform simple manipulations of objects and banishments—summoning books and clothing into his waiting hands and cleaning mud from his shoes—truly simple things. Shields and sound barriers came later.

Meanwhile, Tom practiced his magic on resolving Harry’s magical outbursts and studying how and when they occurred. What they realized was that, in order to minimize Harry’s issues of containment, they needed to allow him to dispel and free the magic once a week. Thus, every Sunday, Harry was sat in the center of the room, Tom leaning against the door to be sure that no one would intrude.

Under Tom’s careful watch, Harry expelled the magic that bit and tumbled under his skin, and for thirty minutes it filled the room and drained out. Tom, feeling the immense amount of pressure from the magic that drowned the room, erected a transparent skin-tight magic shield around himself to prevent from falling to his knees. After a few weeks, Tom suddenly realized that for every release Harry did, the sheer amount of his magic increased.

The magic that had initially healed his old wounds now fed his malnourished stature. As a result, Harry shot up in height, now shoulder-to-shoulder with Tom and, through picking up Tom's unconscious habits, equally as poised and regal. The other orphans noted this change with great surprise, the girls especially smitten when they saw the two gorgeous boys walk down the hall, never apart from the other.

On Sunday, there came a strong banging on the door, a day that would later be infamously known as “Doomsday.”

Everyone in the orphanage heard the banging, and, since knocks on the door usually indicated that some organization representative was there to give them charity goods, all the children shoved and pushed down the stairs to greet them.

Harry walked to the top of the stairs and looked down, Tom right behind him.

The door creaked as it opened, and the squeal of unoiled wheels filled the foyer. The wheelchair appeared first, inhabited by a senile old man slumped against the armrest. Pushing the man was a nun, so thin that the bones of her face gave her the appearance of a skeleton. She wore the traditional clothing of the convent, recognizable by the long black gown and towering headdress.

Mrs. Cole went to greet her then, bustling forward with the typical smile and cheerful demeanor she reserved only for guests. “Good morning,” She reached out in a handshake, “Wilhelmina Cole, head Matron,”

The nun smiled coldly, an expression which looked horrifying due to the copious amounts of teeth she showed. “Head matron no longer, I’m afraid,” She claimed, thrusting forward a stark white sheet of paper at the matron, smile widening with victory.

Harry watched expressionless as Mrs. Cole’s face visibly paled as she read. He began heading down the stairs.

“A War Order, from the Electorate himself,” The nun gloated. Mrs. Cole still hadn’t moved, clutching the letter with shaking hands. Harry gently took it from her and read:

_Dear Mrs. Wilhelmina Cole,_

_In these times of great peril, we regret to inform you that you will hereby be terminated from your position as Head Matron of Wool’s Orphanage. Mr. Wool has since requested ownership back, and he, along with the accompanying overseer, Sister Mary of the Feltham Priory, will be hence appointed as the primary caretakers._

_We thank you for your service,_

_Electorate of London_

_September 5, 1937_

With the letter no longer in her grasp, Mrs. Cole straightened to full height and disappeared into her bedroom.

"Lovely to meet you children," The nun said, voice an unsettling croon. "You will call me Sister Mary, or just Sister." She clasped a vicelike grip onto the shoulder of the man in the wheelchair and spoke for him, "This is Mr. Wool, founder of this very orphanage. I'm sure we will all get along famously, as long as you follow my instructions. Do we all want to go around and introduce ourselves now?"

The children all mumbled their assent and went around the room voicing their names with lackluster enthusiasm. Last was Harry and Tom, who followed suit.

Her sharp eyes caught quickly onto the close proximity between the two of them, a familiar closeness only developed after months of being together. She noted the way Tom angled his shoulder over the side of Harry that was exposed to her, subtly but effectively conveying privacy. Tom, in question, unamusedly stared at her with a poised indifference. With the equally slender and dark-haired Harry at his side, they created an impenetrable air of cool disinterest.

Shelving this information for later use, Sister Mary didn’t linger for too long and invited herself into the dining hall.

In the bedroom designated for the head matron, Mrs. Cole was methodically cleaning the room. There was nothing she could do--the Electorate of London was law. She picked up her sparse belongings and was gone the next morning.

Sister Mary's first order of business was to move every child into the one room farthest from her own— “there’s not enough space for everyone to have their own room; this isn’t the Ritz,” she claimed. The reality behind the already flimsy excuse was that she had just wanted to separate Tom and Harry, and also that she hated children.

Apparently, she was convinced due to their frequent physical contact—whether it was Tom taking his wrists at every opportunity, or him grabbing one of Tom’s long limbs to use as a pillow—that they were lovers. When Tom had first openly stated this theory, Harry had laughed so hard he had vanished to the roof. It had taken a while for Tom to convince the other orphans—who listened fearfully as for the first time ever, the elusive and terrifying Tom spoke more than two words to them—that Harry had never been there to begin with.

Mr. Wool, or just simply, “Wool”, as the kids took to saying, was quite possibly just a husk of a person. Apparently, he had once started the orphanage, of which now carried his namesake, but now he was far from the man he had been. Harry theorized that he was a spy sent in by the Germans and was actually entirely capable, to which Tom had asked him why the Germans would care about one stupid orphanage out of many.

As a sort of protest to the poor treatment, Harry suggested that they push their beds together in the back of the room and “sleep entangled in each other’s arms”, waving his arms around in a mockery of romance as he said so. For reasons unknown, Tom refused.

The room, though, was cold at night, far from the main fireplace as it was, and as winter set in they all froze. When the eldest children, Billy Stubbs and Eric Whalley of 15 and 16, respectively, went to complain to Sister Mary about the cold, she recruited them as “orphan sentries.” They were given special rooms and privileges beside Sister Mary’s room, previously Mrs. Cole’s bedroom, in exchange for ratting out the rest of the orphans. With these new common enemies, Harry, Tom, and the remaining orphans developed a sort of comradery, their mutually suffering souls keeping them from nosing too deeply into each other's business.

Since then, their pock-marked faces appeared in every hall and every room, small, sharp eyes on the lookout for someone to punish, someone to expose. With their new privileges, their egos inflated to the size of balloons; in Harry’s opinion, just _waiting _for someone to pop them. The rest of the children called them Sister Mary’s Nazi’s behind their backs. Of course, that left Sister Mary to be named the resident Hitler, a nickname that quickly stopped once Amy Benson was caught uttering it just once. It hadn’t ended well, and Amy's usual humorous attitude all but disappeared after the punishment of which she wouldn’t divulge.

The most unfortunate circumstance of Sister Mary's reign was in that it directly coincided with the degrading conditions of the war at hand. For instance, she didn't even _need _to cut portions during mealtimes--the war rations had already done so. Tom and Harry kept to themselves as always, dutifully performing whatever extra duties Sister Mary assigned them with the ill intent of keeping them apart.

The worst days were on Sundays, when Sister Mary gathered them all into the dining room where the wooden tables were pushed to the back to make room to pray. They all knelt on their knees on the hard stone floor for hours on end, the length of prayer fluctuating as Sister Mary saw fit. Harry endured, glaring at the floor and thinking of the devil in silent retaliation. Tom outright refused to pray on the very first day she had begun it, and since then, Tom was punished with no dinner. Harry had tried to share with him what little pieces of rationed bread they received nightly, but Tom had rejected those offerings as well.

Once during prayer, Harry’s accidental magic had responded to his desires to leave and he had floated up and out the window, unnoticed by the other occupants of the room who kept their heads bowed to the floor. Sister Mary had only noticed once he had fallen face first into the garden bed with an audible crash, quickly coming to the false conclusion that he had attempted to escape through the window.

Harry, already hungry, experienced having no dinner for the first time since the Dursleys and had consequentially felt as though he were _starving _the entire day. How Tom stayed alive living that weekly, Harry had no idea.

Two days after her arrival, Sister Mary arrived at the orphanage with a large bag of soiled and torn clothing. Since then, from morning to night—except Sundays, of _course_—they mended and stitched and washed garments of clothing till their hands and fingers were raw.

With their newly crowded quarters and the constant work, Tom and Harry had neither the time nor the space to practice magic or to read; not that they had any books. Sister Mary had declined the library’s book offers. She said, “we must focus more on the war effort and on God’s grace,” to which Harry childishly said, “God can go eat my shoe.” The consequence. on that one was a week of extra mending.

The unfortunate circumstance was that, with a personal vendetta against Tom and Harry, specifically, Harry didn’t even need to open his mouth to receive punishment from Sister Mary. She seemed hell bent on working them to the bone, the assumption being that if they were too tired, they couldn't act on their homosexual impulses.

Tom was affected the most, which was impressive considering that Harry’s accidental magic had tripled in occurrence after being unable expel the excess. As Harry watched, cold anger seemed to consume Tom, his brow so creased with rage that even Harry was hesitant to approach him.

Another two air raids came and went with far less bravado than the first. They hurried down the road single file, huddled together in the Underground, and then hurried back. The orphanage was never rebuilt, and they didn’t see Mrs. Cole again.

After two weeks of hell, Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist in the middle of the night, no longer able to withstand it. Harry followed Tom out the window, floating each other down into the garden.

They walked down the usual garden path—the only raid-destroyed portion of the orphanage rebuilt—glancing around to be sure that neither Billy nor Eric was nearby. Tom had finally told him, to Harry’s utter amusement, of why exactly the other children feared him so much. Harry was certain that if Billy had an excuse to punish Tom, the confrontation would go far worse than a stupid rabbit strung up to a tree.

Tom had only verbally divulged where he had gone during those times—which now felt like so long ago—when he had disappeared. Now, finally, he slowly led Harry though the victory garden and crept to the small shed leaning against the main building. Harry had looked inside numerous times in the past, doing a quick cursory glance over the few outdoor-use appliances and broken machines.

Tom creaked the door open magically and then disappeared inside. Harry quickly followed and found Tom already levitating the large broken headboard away from the back wall. Behind it was a small crevice, barely enough space to fit a full grown adult, leading out into a small alleyway between the main building and the back one. 

“You’re kidding,” Harry said. Tom just smiled half-heartedly in response.

The alleyway was not much bigger than the hallway and covered on the remaining three sides by the orphanage's stone walls. When Harry finally entered, he found around twenty snakes coiled inside and quickly realized that they huddled there for warmth—the indoor furnace must be right behind the right wall. Consequentially, the alleyway was also pleasantly warm, keeping away the November chill and occasional gust of wind. Aside from the snakes, numerous plants sprouted near the wall and a thick ivy flourished to his left. It was indeed a secret garden. 

"_Speakers!" _The first snake chirped, and Harry recognized it as the small black snake that he had greeted during the air raid. Tom levitated the headboard back in place before sitting down among the lavender, motioning for Harry to do the same.

"_Hello again," _Harry greeted, and the snakes writhed towards him and Tom in mass. He was slightly perturbed by the sheer _number _of snakes present and backed up against the wall as they circled around his limbs. 

"Here's the place I used to practice magic in, not that we can do this again anytime soon," Tom said bitterly, leaning against the wall. "You can release it now. I can feel it bothering you and it's putting me on edge," 

Harry hummed and closed his eyes, letting the magic seep out in copious amounts. Due to weeks of not letting it out, the magic was far more hostile than usual, lashing out with anger at the walls and rustling the plants. He smelled hints of smoke in the air as he continued, but he assumed Tom had put the fires out as it didn't bother him incessantly. The snakes were silent as he expelled the magic, oddly still on his limbs. 

Finally, after he was thoroughly drained and the magic was tired out, it returned to him leisurely, dipping up and down into the flowers and plants before absorbing into his skin. 

"Finished?" Tom asked, and Harry nodded exhaustedly.

"This one was worse than normal," 

"I know," Tom said. "You carry with you a small world war,"

Harry considered how to broach the subject that he was from the future. Since the first day at the orphanage, he had attempted to find a snake to solve the mystery of the time travel but had failed. Over the years, other things had taken priority and the search for snakes was overrun by a triage of other problems—air raids, magic, homophobic sisters. Now, surrounded by snakes, was a better time than any to finally ask…but _Tom. _

Harry glanced nervously at said boy and then back at the snakes, biting his lip.

"What is it," Tom asked sharply. _Of course _Tom would notice. Harry debated how much he should tell Tom, eyes downcast. Would Tom look at him differently? Would their friendship disappear? 

"Tom," He began, hesitant. “Remember _how _I came to the orphanage?" 

"No," Tom said. Of course he didn’t remember; that was a time when Tom didn’t care.

"I was picked up off the streets by Mrs. Cole, who brought me here," 

Tom nodded, catching his drift. "And before?"

Harry started slowly. "Well, apparently after being dropped off anonymously on their front porch as an infant, I lived with my terrible aunt, uncle, and cousin in a little house in Surry,"

"And?" Tom asked impatiently.

"In 1988"

Tom froze then, turning to face him completely with a clockwork sort of motion. "You're from the future,"

"Yes," Harry replied. 

"You traveled back in time,"

"Yes,"

"How old are you really?" Tom asked tersely, eyes narrowed.

"I'm the same age! I promise!" Harry insisted, now knowing exactly why the reveal prompted such a rigid reaction. 

Tom eased back to the floor and observed him. "How is the future?" He asked, surprisingly conversationally. 

"Fine," Harry answered. "I don't know much of what was going on since I was working all day,"

"Mending clothes?"

"Gardening, cooking, washing, and more,"

"Do the Germans win?"

"No, with a strong maybe clause," 

"With a maybe clause," Tom repeated, huffing with amusement. "Useless is what you are,"

"I didn't have access to news!" Harry protested.

"How did you do it?" Tom changed topic. 

"That's what we're about to find out," Harry said, and then told him of the incident with Louis. "If one of these snakes knows the legend, then I can figure out how I got here."

"And go back?" Tom asked with forced nonchalance that Harry quickly picked up on. 

"No. I am not going back," Harry reassured before turning to the black snake that seemed eager to talk. 

"_I would like to ask you a few questions," _Harry said. 

"_Anything for the speaker!" _She replied, happily writhing around his leg.

"_Do you know of...uh, how to I phrase this...something about a special night and wishing on a star?"_

_"Serpenscore! The last one was very soon ago!" _

_"Elaborate," _Tom cut in. Harry glared at him and continued more gently.

"_If you know anything more, please let us know,"_

"_I don't know that much, I'll call hatchfather,"_ She moved to the back of the alleyway and returned with a larger snake in the midst of shedding. 

"_Greetings speaker. Serpentscore is the starset of snakes; where heart wishes are granted to the few," _He informed. 

"_Heart wishes?"_

_"Wishes coming from the deepest hearts,"_

Harry felt a calm understanding wash over him. _"When does the night of snakes appear?_" He asked.

_"Only once every 53 summers, in the throes of heat, as the star is highest in the sky, one wish is granted only once for one very special snake. The star determines who she picks," _The old snake recounted, clearly having spoken the legend numerous times.

"The summer solstice,” Tom interjected. “When the sun is highest in the sky…I suppose the sun is _the _star. _I assume these wishes are applicable to humans as well? Or perhaps only magic-users?_”

“_Perhaps,” _The snake replied.

“53 sum...53 years Tom! That must mean that the day I wished that I could go elsewhere was one of those days!"

And then, to the snake, he asked "_When was the last one?"_

_"3 summers ago," _Harry went to excitedly look up at Tom as this proved his theory—3 summers ago was 1935, exactly 53 years from 1988!—but was surprised to find that the boy's face had drained almost entirely of color. 

"_3 summers ago? Are you quite certain?" _

_“Quite certain, speaker,” _The snake replied, making the same sniff-laugh that Harry remembered Louis had made.

“What’s the problem?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes. Tom adjusted his sitting position before looking up at the night sky.

"I...made a wish on that day as well..." When Harry remained silent, he continued. "It was a trivial wish really, childish, purely wishful thin-"

"What did you wish Tom,"

After a pause, "For a companion," Tom near whispered.

Harry pondered this for all of two seconds before turning on him with disbelief. 

"You fool!" He bit out under his breath, being sure not to raise a commotion. "You wished for a companion and I miraculously appeared and you _ignored _me?! For a whole year?! Because of your pride?!"

Tom gave Harry a calculated look and then turned away.

“Incredible. Only you, you stubborn prick,” Harry muttered. “50 years from now I’m going to wish you emotionally competent,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this book is kinda self indulgent so I'm v sorry. 
> 
> Also the Hogwarts Express of Character Development (TM) is coming I promise. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, plz comment I have no friends.


	6. Rapture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry can’t catch a break and now he’s probably gonna be in Slytherin. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaannnnd the long awaited finale to this demonically long orphanage arc is here!
> 
> but like I'm really nervous about this chapter because its kinda risky oh nooooo

Harry and Tom hadn’t been able to go back to the secret garden for a full 3 weeks now, and between the steady stream of work and pray, both of them were severely on edge. Harry’s inability to expel his excess magic had him jumpy and anxious, just waiting for the next bout of accidental magic.

Between the five times that Harry had accidentally set the washing water to a boil, the seven times he had disappeared to a different location, and the one time he had been caught resting his head on Tom’s thigh, Sister Mary’s hate for him wasn’t ceasing anytime soon. Rather, it grew and festered like an infected dog bite, a bite that she poked and prodded incessantly.

She targeted Harry, and exclusively Harry as she had soon learned that Tom wasn’t one to wage war on. Sister Mary had once attempted to punish Tom beyond withholding dinner, the key word being attempted. The morning proceeding the day she had stuck Tom’s palms several times with her cane after his fifth consecutive desertion of prayer, she had awoken the next morning with several concerned letters in the mail from the local residents of London.

Tom had left the orphanage and made a rather convincing display at the nearest hospital in front of a number of patients and now Tom was left untouchable—lest Sister Mary be evicted for cruelty.

The trick was only workable once, as soon after, Sister Mary had taken the younger children, too old to walk nor speak, hostage in her punishments. “Should another child make a public scene,” She said, “I will personally take it upon myself to make this orphanage a living hell for the rest of you,”

As if it wasn’t already.

She gave Harry faulty darning needles and the worst pile of clothing under the order that he wouldn’t receive dinner if he didn’t finish by sunset. Harry received moldy bread for breakfast and though he nibbled around the worst parts, he was still bedridden with a stomach bug for days. Harry felt as though she wasn’t here to spread the word of God but rather her skeletal body.

During prayer, she had him remain for an extra hour to “repent for loving that boy, lest the devil come and steal your soul!” Harry thought that if one of them was soulless, it certainly wasn’t him.

Harry might have been more inclined to retaliate as well, but to some degree he felt he deserved the extra punishments they may have been accidents but the curtains, clothing, and garden were ruined in part because of him. And if she stopped being terrible to him, what would come of the other children? Harry wasn't a hero, but he also wasn't a complete prat like Sister Mary.

He woke up hungry and went to sleep hungry, curled into his thin sheets and wishing Tom would let him get in his bed. The other boy wasn’t any help in lessening his anxiety, as apparently, Harry’s nerves were setting if off as well. Tom’s cold rage at the situation wasn’t ebbing—he still had scarcely anything to eat and scarcely any time, to boot—and as a result, Tom was curt and often rude in responding to Harry’s attempts at conversation.

Usually, if Harry felt unstable or emotionally tense, he visited the orphanage library and selected something to read. His go-to had been The Murders in the Rue Morgue, but unfortunately, Sister Mary had filled every shelf with a copy of the Bible, and Harry would be damned if he read that stupid book one more time.

It was another Sunday when Harry Potter snapped.

***

“On your knees! On your knees now!” Sister Mary called in that dreadfully high pitched voice of hers. Harry slowly bent his legs and knelt on the floor, the imprint of the stone tiles already tattooed to his knees. Sister Mary, sitting on the armchair she had installed in the dining room on the first day, began to read from some testament. Which was less a testament to the Word of God and more a testament to her insufferable voice.

He silently seethed, thinking of Tom’s newly indifferent persona and his refusal to pray. His knees hurt, his head hurt, his stomach hurt from sheer emptiness. And worst of all, the buzzing of restless magic was like sitting on a bed of needles ready to impale him at any moment. ‘No magic, no magic,’ He chanted under his breath. 

“Harry!” Her voice, oh her voice! If someone set a timer, Harry could probably go on for at least three hours about her it. Not only was it the crackly, warbly sort, but it came out with a breath that sounded like someone had put her vocal cords in a box and shook it around—a human rattlesnake. 

But Harry supposed it was unfair to the snakes to compare such a dreadful woman to them, if only her voice.

He looked up from the ground, gritting his teeth. The pounding headache refused to go away, and now the painful pulses were synching up with his heartbeat. She towered over him at a solid 6 feet and whatever inches of pure bone and skin. Was she anorexic? Did she need medical help? He wondered, trying to keep his mind busy.

“You’re not praying properly,” The old crone interrupted her own reading for the thousandth time to mock him.

She wasn’t actually that old. Her hair still retained some color, silvery streaks giving the hair a shimmery sort of quality. If she covered her torso, her legs, feet, arms, hands, and face with various garments and just left the hair, she might have looked nice.

“Yes Sister,” He replied, making a small, negligible shift to his position. One of the younger children—Harry thought it was Emma—began crying then, wailing that her legs hurt.

Sister Mary ignored her. “Your arms need to be more outstretched,”

“How’s this?” Harry asked, tiredly doing as he was told.

“No.” The thin cane she kept came and wacked down onto his shoulders and Emma cried louder. The thing about Sister Mary was that she never yelled—what she lacked in vocal cords she made up in punishments.

The magic pulsed once, buzzing in his ears.

“How, exactly, do I assume correct posture, Sister?” He asked pliantly, patiently.

“Not like that,” The cane slammed down again, and this time Harry’s hands slipped out from under him and his jaw hit the ground. Hard.

His magic pulsed twice and the buzzing in his ears became deafening, like the roar of the sea. Harry squeezed his eyes shut.

He was so tired, so weak, so hungry. Harry had thought that the influence from the Dursleys had faded to nothingness, but here it was again, written in his soul. It emerged like a shadow, demanding supplication, demanding him to apologize, to beg.

“Stop,” Harry whispered, eyes shut tightly, the hands pressed against his ears doing nothing to deafen the roar of magic within him. He wasn’t the weak little boy from the Dursleys—he wasn’t! Harry began to feel stronger, the resolution steeling his resolve, the thin lines between pain and rage bleeding over.

“Speak louder, boy!” The cane came down then, three more strikes in quick succession.

“Stop it,” He growled to his magic. It had begun to leech out of him, making the air buzz with power, filling the room like a thick, deadly fog. Sister Mary was the least of his problems.

“Speak up!” Sister Mary rose her cane again. Emma was screaming now, and, Harry assumed, spurred on by her bravery, so were the rest of the little ones. Harry’s eyes were still tightly closed, hands wrapped around his head and tremors running up and down his body. He stood.

“B-boy! What are you doing!”

Harry ignored her—a feeling of wonderfulness was returning, flooding his bones with power. It was a strength missed since the air raid; radiating over his body with warmth, the overwhelming euphoria he was experiencing drowning out the screams that Harry subconsciously felt were getting louder.

And louder.

“Devil! Demon spawn!” Sister Mary was screaming too. Sister Mary never did that.

Logic and rationale slowly returned to Harry, who felt fantastic. Why was everything so loud?

“HARRY!” Was that Tom’s voice? So he was finally talking to him now? Tom, who as of late had been more silent than Wool? As if Harry would forgive him for the last two weeks when he had needed him most.

“HARRY!” The yelling, again! And just when everyone else had stopped screaming! So LOUD! So ANNOYING!

“SHUT UP!” Harry screamed in frustration, hands gripping his hair and finally opening his eyes.

A pair of terrified amber eyes looked back at him. When Harry tried to look away and to the side, Tom’s hands came up to grip his head.

“Reign in your magic!” Tom was saying. Why should he? He was feeling better than he had in months!

Tom grabbed his arms and turned him around.

And then, Harry, horrified as the blood rushed to his head and his heart skipped a beat, fell to his knees.

It was a playground of corpses. A magical playground. Of corpses. Motionless bodies littered the floor: the bodies of Sister Mary, Emma, Billy, Eric, Amy, the entire orphanage. Harry’s magic frantically retracted from the bodies, chased back to the host by Tom who emitted waves of power; dragged back to the culprit by Harry who reigned it in.

“What happened.” Harry breathed once the room had been cleared.

“You lost control,” Tom replied. Harry turned to look up at Tom frantically.

“Are they dead?”

“Barely alive,” Harry’s hands were trembling as Tom pulled him to his feet—it was then that Harry realized that Tom was shaking as well. “Let us hope they remember nothing,”

***

2 hours after Harry and Tom had levitated each unconscious body up to their respective beds and nearly 24 hours since Harry had been unable to cry, stewing in a self-made hole at the edge of his bed, Harry glared at himself in the mirror.

Angry red welts had appeared along his neck—apparently, he had clawed at his skin during the incident—and gave him the appearance of a feral creature. It wasn’t the welts, though, that completed the look. His eyes were now an even brighter green, his black hair blacker and slightly longer as it brushed along the back of his neck. Harry narrowed his eyes in disgust, noting the changes and knowing they were the direct result of the children’s energy.

Harry stormed out of the bathroom and promptly returned with a pair of garden shears. He raised the rusted blade to the long strands, fully intent on destroying whatever evidence he could of the incident, before pausing. He looked at himself in the mirror again, coldly gazing into his own eyes that now held a lifetime’s worth of tragedy.

Harry left the shears on the sink—he would bear the mark of his failure for as long as it lasted.

***

Throughout the week that the orphanage slept, Harry and Tom managed the repercussions of the Incident on their own. They alternated days of taking care of Wool, answered the door to two women inquiring about the best dates to organize charity events, and carefully watched over the sleeping children.

When they finally awoke, they didn’t remember anything at all mainly because this terrible author doesn’t know how to resolve that problem if they did. Harry checked with each of them regarding their health, and all had looked at him strangely before responding that, no, they were fine.

When Harry had asked Bobby how he was feeling, the older boy had responded with “I’m feeling like it’s about time you shut up,” and so Harry was certain that the affected kids were all back to their original liveliness.

The orphanage woke up without noticing anything out of ordinary…except perhaps for the drastic changes in Harry that had seemingly occurred overnight. Several orphans had commented on his hair and eyes as they awoke with regained strength, and Harry had just smiled rather sadly and given them empty answers.

Sister Mary was the last to awake, and she did so in a fit of panic, mainly because Harry sat at the foot of her bed, swinging the cross necklace around on his fingers.

Throughout the week, Harry had quickly come to the realization that he had a problem, and it started with an S and ended with a y and was composed of the remaining letters “i,s,t,e,r” and “M,a,r.” The moral of the story was that his tolerance of Sister Mary had run short. Harry had had a plenty of time to internalize all of the resent that he carried and had promptly determined that the first course of action was to be rid of her.

So now, he perched at the end of the bed, idly looping the necklace back and forth between his fingers: a good scare was in order.

“Boy! What exactly possessed you to enter my room? And with that hair,” She gasped then, clutching her hand over her heart, “I told you to cut it—you looked like a girl—but then you went and you grew it?”

“I’m not sure possessed is a word you should be using,” Harry smiled, and then stopped toying with the cross, “Words have meaning, Sister,” At this last word, Harry allowed his magic to invade the room. After successfully expelling his magic the night prior, his control over it was better than ever.

Harry’s eyes began to glow then, his hair floating upwards to frame an exaggerated smile, a mockery of the smile she had arrived with.

“Daemon,” She breathed shakily, backing up against the headboard.

“Now, I have but two requests, Sister,” Harry leaned forward until he could smell the decaying reek of her mouth. “First, you take this cross and leave immediately,” He pressed the necklace into her hand then, digging it into the tender flesh of her palm. “The second, that you find Mrs. Cole and reinstate her back here,” Sister Mary’s eyes flickered with a mysterious hate then, but quickly disappeared when Harry narrowed his eyes. “Are we clear?"

Sister Mary whimpered then, nodding frantically. “As you say, Daemon,”

“Good,” Harry replied, standing and striding towards the door, which banged open without his influence. Harry didn’t need to look to know that Sister Mary had visibly flinched.

“Congratulations, Daemon. You’ve expelled Hitler from Orphanage School and single handedly started World War III,”

Harry walked right past Tom, who stood outside the door. “I’ll deal with that when it comes to it,”

They turned to walk side-by-side to their original room, the last dorm on the corridor.

“I cannot fathom why you didn’t do it sooner,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE ORPHANAGE ARC IS FINALLY DONE GOOD RIDDANCE IT ONLY TOOK 14,000 WORDS. 
> 
> In all seriousness though, this chapter was insanely hard to write. I think I revised it at least 7 times and scrapped the whole thing twice. Thank you to all that commented on the previous chapter, you guys make my day 😊
> 
> Also the tags, as you’ve probably noticed, keep switching around because like I said, I have problems writing and my plans never work hahahaha (sobs). So yeah anyways, now it looks like Harry will probably be in Slytherin but like…take everything I say with seven handfuls of salt because we may just go back to Gryffindor Harry in the end because I suck. 
> 
> ORDER IN THE COURT. Who here wants a return to the DarkHarry tag? If you do, say aye. If not, say nay. 
> 
> Next chapter is the long awaited Hogwarts letter/ Diagon Alley chapter though, and that one is a Big Boi. Hope that makes up for my poor abilities as a reliable author lmao.


	7. The Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Christmas miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very important notice: I went through and edited and added some scenes to every single chapter. I humbly request that you reread chapter 1, and the rest of the book you can read at your discretion, considering I haven't updated in forever and you probably forgot the plotline haHAHA. 
> 
> Oh, also something else: I've made it so Hogwarts normally starts at the end of secondary school, or what is the replacement to sixth form. For non-British reference, Hogwarts first years are 16 in this world and continue for three years (the eldest are third years at 18 to 19 years old). 
> 
> Why did I do this? Because Harry and Tom attending Hogwarts at 11/12 is just too young for me to do anything with, especially since this book's primary plot is R O M A N C E and they can't be 1 1 or 1 2. 
> 
> Ok, enjoy the chapter. *Drops and runs*

Mrs. Cole came back the next morning.

Days passed after the Sister Mary spectacle, and the orphanage fell back into routine. Harry and Tom turned 10 together and moved back into their original room. At 11, they started secondary school, or what was the first public school they had ever attended. 

Over the years, they also developed a taste in genre, something that had never been allowed before. Harry loved history books—books of Chinese dynasties and Vikings and foreign worlds. Tom on the other hand, focused on philosophy and politics. He had never actually returned _The Prince_ and instead had recently added _The Art of War_ and _Nichomachean Ethics_, books that Harry had read but had found more disturbing than anything. But then again, this was coming from the Harry that had reread _The History of the French Revolution _a minimum of five times, enough to worry the school librarian that he wasn't actually digesting the advanced material.

With their daily lessons, his magic, as well as Tom's, had progressed far more than he had anticipated. They levitated and manipulated and banished objects with ease, finding difficulty with only the most tedious magics—those that involved altering humans. Illusions and sensory blocks were terrible to perform and usually went haywire if attempted—Tom had learned that the hard way.

Likewise, Harry continued to find himself victim to accidental bursts of magic. He tumbled into tables, set things on fire, exploded pillows, and vanished to the roof. Both he and Tom were becoming extremely used to these fits, however, and more annoyed than surprised when they occurred. Tom, curiously, seemed to be able to feel when they would occur, usually helping to mitigate the damage by extinguishing flames and mending broken furniture. 

As the years passed, Tom hit a growth spurt, standing at 5'8" and not stopping anytime soon. For a year, Tom was a good 5 inches taller, much to Harry's dismay. Fortunately, Harry experienced a growth spurt before he almost died of annoyance, shooting up to only an inch shorter.

Harry also noticed that Tom, after the scare he had experienced of losing Harry, was slowly but surely coming to terms with the new concept of showing affection. On the outside, his façade of indifference and elitism didn't fade, but when he and Harry were alone...that was a different story.

It began with the wrist holding, an odd mimicry of holding hands that Harry ultimately noticed served the same purpose for Tom—comfort. Almost as though Tom was afraid that Harry would disappear, he gripped Harry's wrists constantly. Eating dinner, Tom would unconsciously wrap his fingers around his skin; while practicing magic; while reading. Tom didn't seem to notice, but Harry certainly did, and it filled him with the unfamiliar warmth of being _needed. _

Eventually, Tom began to administer soft touches to his waist as he guided Harry away from chaos. And then he would thread his fingers though Harry's hair as they read. Before Harry's eyes, Tom opened himself up and allowed Harry to reside within a part of him never before seen. 

They devoured books together, but it was no more a facsimile of friendship like before. Now, they sought each other out for comfort, climbing onto one of their beds and leaning on each other as they read. Sometimes Tom against the headboard with Harry's legs sprawled across his lap, other times laying side by side. 

And Harry was the happiest that he had ever been. 

On the morning of Harry's 16th birthday, Harry awoke to a soft rapping on the bedroom window. He froze as he sat up in bed, watching as a large tawny owl pecked at the windowpanes of their bedroom. Harry looked to the bed across from him, finding Tom in an equal state of bewilderment, already awake and mid-page a thick tome. 

Harry curiously moved to the window and tentatively opened it. The owl stuck its leg out obviously, and Harry looked back and forth between its eyes and the letters in its claws before undoing the twine and receiving the messages. 

Two letters sat in his hands, both sealed with wax and labeled with their names in a calligraphic font. Tom came over and read the front of the envelopes over his shoulder.

“Hadrian?” Tom inquired, the hints of a mocking smile at his lips.

“Marvolo?” Harry turned and smirked back.

They opened their respective letters and for a short moment, the room was silent as their eyes quickly scanned over the written words once, and then twice, and then three times.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

Dear Mr. Hadrian James Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Harry looked up at the same time as Tom and their eyes met, scanning each other’s expressions to growing grins.

“Magic school?” Harry asked.

“Magic school,” Tom affirmed, and turned back to the window after scrawling something in his neat penmanship on a blank sheet. “You can take this back as an RSVP,” He told the owl. It bobbed its head down and flew out the window, a new piece of paper in its claws.

"Honestly grates my nerves though," Harry said, frowning. "Because," He stopped then, knowing that elaboration wasn't necessary. Tom tacitly understood, anyways.

Tom nodded and surprisingly filled in. "There's a magic school, which implies a magic world, which we've been secluded from while we deteriorated in an orphanage,"

"And then an invitation nonchalantly arrives on our doorstep, as if nothing is out of the ordinary."

"We know, at least, where the magical community stands on taking care of their own," Tom said, eyes narrowing.

Harry huffed a sigh and glanced back down over the attached supplied list. “Anyways, where exactly do you suggest we find these materials?” Harry asked. The materials ranged from dragon hide gloves to cauldrons.

Tom looked down to his list and frowned. “Attentive, Harry. I couldn't tell you,"

A sharp rap on the door sounded then, and Mrs. Cole's voice called: "Tom, Harry. You have a visitor."

She ushered in a tall, wizardly old man dressed in the atrocious combination of a lavender trench coat and an assortment of other unmentionable colors and patterns before closing the door. Harry very nearly choked on his spit as he saw the man enter the room and took to coughing his lungs out instead.

Tom fared a little better, fighting through a hitch in his breathing to smooth over his expression.

"Can I help you?" Tom asked smoothly, sliding the letter onto the bed and standing politely.

The man, who's floor-length beard Harry had to avoid looking at lest he cry, smiled rather intensely when he saw the two of them. "Hello Tom, Harry," He nodded at the two of them in turn, eyes glittering with something that Harry could not decipher between malice and goodwill.

Tom seemed to have encountered the same problem, as he repeated, "Can I help you?"

The man's smile intensified, and he waved a hand, erecting what Harry felt as a sound barrier but was invisible in every other sense.

"My name is Professor Dumbledore, and I teach at a certain school, a school that I've come to invite you to," He said kindly. When neither of them responded, he continued, "You may have gotten the letter today, to Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?" How convenient…

Harry started vibrating with excitement but concealed it at Tom's quick glance.

"You can do magic?" Tom asked, and Harry tacitly understood what move Tom had chosen to take. In the face of the unknown, Tom had decided to play the ignorant. They had both noticed the barrier that the man had erected, but the man didn't know that they knew.

"And so can you," The professor replied. "You can do things, things that other children can't."

"I accidentally set things on fire," Tom fed into the professor's narrative.

'And at will erect sound and material barriers, create illusions, levitate and summon and banish and talk to snakes.' Harry thought amusedly.

"Sometimes, I randomly end up on the roof," Harry added.

The professor laughed heartily and patted Harry's shoulder. "Well, that's magic. If only accidental," He said. "At Hogwarts, we will teach you how to control it, how to be wizards. You can learn to set things on fire at will, like this!"

And their shared wardrobe was consumed by flames. Harry jumped and it took all of his will not to wave his hand to immediately extinguish the flames. Their clothes were in there! Tom's diary!

"Impressive," Tom said tersely, not impressed at all. "Can you extinguish it too?" Harry nearly breathed a sigh of relief when the man removed the flames.

"How do we get these supplies?" Harry asked, hoping to avoid another instance of the man demonstrating his magic. He could tell Tom was also at his wit's end, standing rigid and with a smile far more polite than anything Harry had ever seen. The wardrobe catching on fire must have stricken a nerve.

"Oh, I see you've noticed that these aren't your average school supplies?" Professor Dumbledore chuckled. "You can find what you need at Diagon Alley. I can accompany you if you-"

"That won't be necessary." Tom cut in, "But thank you,"

"Are you sure? It wouldn't be a hassle-"

"Can you write down the directions to get there?" Harry asked.

"I…of course," Dumbledore said, and Harry watched as the man rummaged around in the pockets of his coat in search of paper. Out of the depths came a lighter, several miscellaneous candies, cigars, a wand--which Tom's sharp eyes studied from a distance--and finally, a quill, bottle of ink, and a scrap of parchment. He placed all of the items back into his pocket once he found the needed items and let out a little embarrassed laugh. "Lemon drop?" He asked, to which they both declined.

They stood in silence while Dumbledore removed his coat, hung it on the edge of the singed wardrobe, and sat down at their single desk to write. After a tense four minutes, during which Dumbledore attempted small talk to no avail, Harry found himself holding a descriptive and still-drying paper.

"There you go," Dumbledore said. "When you get into Diagon, head to Gringotts--that’s the bank--and ask for your Hogwarts stipends. Just try to avoid the muggles milling around the front of the Leaky Cauldron,"

"Muggles?" Tom asked.

"That's what the wizarding community calls non-magic folk," The professor answered, waiting to see if there were any other questions. Usually, the children he encountered would hold him for hours, eagerly demanding more displays of magic to their and their parents' awe. In contrast, these two boys stood stoically and regally, creating an air which made him feel distinctly uninvited.

"Well, if that's all, I'll best be on my way," Dumbledore frowned, moving towards the door. The conversation had been far shorter than he had expected from two muggle orphans, even if one of them was a Potter. Neither had had any exposure to the wizarding world, according to their records, and he suspected that the Potter child was a distant relative or just a simple coincidence. Despite this, he hadn't had seen any sort of amazement past the initial reveal--what strange children they were.

"Good bye," Tom said.

"Thank you," Harry added.

With disappointment, Dumbledore waved a hand to nullify the silence field, shrugged on the coat he had taken off for only a minute, and headed out the door.

Back in the room, Tom and Harry waited in silence until they were sure he was gone before Harry took the initiative to erect a sound field.

"He had _wand _, Tom," Harry burst out laughing. "Are we in a fairy tale?"

Tom smirked. "I suppose witch hats and brooms are next?" 

Harry fell back onto his mattress in bemusement. Remembering the notes he was clutching, he lifted it up to his eyes and read. 

"At least it's in London," Harry said, sitting up on the bed and scanning over the instructions while Tom checked the condition of the wardrobe.

"It's fine," Tom reported. "Singed on account of that fool, but fine."

"Good," Harry said. "How are we getting to…'Charing Cross Road'?"

"Randomly setting things on fire should do the trick, that absolute _pillager_-"

Harry threw a nearby lighter at him. "Tom, focus!"

The silver-green metal cannister spiraled through the air straight at Tom's head--curtesy of Harry's uncanny accuracy--and Tom reached up his hand and caught it--curtesy of Tom's instinctual reaction time. Tom glanced at the unfamiliar object and raised it up for Harry to look at.

"Where'd you get this?" Tom asked.

"Oh, isn't that Dumble- Professor Dumbledore's?" Harry answered, scrutinizing it from across the room.

"Yes," Tom said, flicking it open. The room went dark as the room's single lamp turned off, a glowing ball of light floating through the air and entering the lighter.

They both stared at it with expressions of awe as Tom repeated the motion several times, the lamp glowing on then off, on then off.

"He will not be getting this back," Tom decided, pocketing the lighter.

Harry would have returned it, but his moral compass only extended to himself. Whatever Tom did was none of his concern.

"Fair enough," He said. "So about Diagon Alley?"

"We can head out tomorrow, Mrs. Cole _will _allow us," Tom said. "I want to figure out this magic world as soon as possible, seeing as we only have a month before term starts."

"Ok," Harry agreed. "We can take some money and ride the underground in the morning,"

***

They awoke the next morning at 5am, and Mrs. Cole didn't protest their excursion, forking over a bit of money for transit--after all, they had gotten her her job back.

Harry and Tom donned their coats and scarves before heading out onto the street, deftly avoiding any crowds by keeping their heads down like everyone else. They sat through ten minutes on the train and emerged onto Charing Cross Road. It took another five minutes to find the Leaky Cauldron, a pub who's name somehow matched the run down exterior and thus wasn't at all hard to find.

They entered the pub one after the other, blinking as the warm interior thawed their cold fingers. They both headed to the bar, catching the eye of a young bartender.

"John?" Tom asked the man.

"Right yer are, Diagon Alley I'll take it?" The man replied heartily.

"Yes, please," Harry said.

"I'll be with you in a sec, just gotta close out these fellas," John nodded, bustling away with a few empty glasses.

Harry took the time to look around, noting the dim but welcoming interior. The bar stools sparse--it _was _six in the morning--but some of the tables were occupied with spreads of breakfast and newspapers. When Harry turned to meet Tom's eyes, he found the other boy studying a newspaper which lay open on the bar counter.

"The pictures, they're moving," Tom pointed out, and Harry's eyes widened as he saw the front page photo, a young woman posing and turning from side to side as she showed off her most recent publication. The title read "Bathilda Bagshot releases award winning History of Magical Creatures" and framed it as an important breakthrough for the magical world, but Harry and Tom were more concerned with the moving picture.

At that time, John finished up and came back over, noting their intense focus on the newspaper and misinterpreting their reactions as interest in the content.

"Pretty interesting book, read it meself," John boasted. "Ms. Bagshot's got some talent, breakthrough author for someone so young,"

Harry nodded absently while Tom continued to stare at the photo.

"Well then, Diagon Alley," he moved to the back of the bar, Harry and Tom following after him. They stopped at a wall, or rather, Tom and John stopped at a wall. Harry's magic took that opportunity to propel him into it, and his side hit the brick with a thud.

"Harry," Tom said, concerned.

"Fine," Harry replied, straightening up with an annoyed look.

"You alright?" John asked, looking from the wall to Harry and back again.

"Just accidental magic," Harry explained.

"Strange, accidental magic usually doesn't hurt the user like that," John said, perplexed.

At Harry's disinterested shrug, John turned and pulled out his wand to tap a certain brick. Immediately, the wall pulled back, the bricks magically rotating away to create a large crevice in the wall and exposing a colorful and busy street.

John walked away with a "Have fun boys!" and left them to their amazement.

Harry was speechless as he stared, head whirling with sensory overload. There was just so _much_. Store fronts towered overhead in every color imaginable, cursive font sprawled across signs reading 'Scribbulus Writing Instruments' and 'Second Hand Brooms.' People walked the cobblestone road wearing just as many colors, robes brushing their ankles as they floated parcels up above them. Owls and cats and every pet imaginable hung from this store. Eyes and beetle wings and pressed flower petals in vials sat on display in that shop. And all in all, the air thrummed with magic.

"Brooms, Tom. _Witch hats," _Harry meant to laugh but instead a strangled sound escaped his throat. 

"Harry," He heard Tom's voice and turned, meeting the other boy's gaze with a pained smile. Tom understood. For the two of them who had only ever known orphan life in World War II England, to witness such a happy and thriving magical world was simultaneously euphoric and bitter.

"Let's go," Harry said finally. They ventured out into the street, scanning the store fronts for anything labeled 'Gringotts.'

Tom found their destination first, grabbing Harry's wrist as he veered left through the crowd. They arrived at the bank in due fashion, standing before a marble building with two large columns flanking a pair of bronze doors. Without hesitation they entered, the inside just as grandiose as the storefront.

Velvet waiting chairs lined the walls, sparsely occupied, and solid oak desks housed goblin tellers. Harry nearly stopped breathing when he saw the goblins, inhaling sharply as he rationalized. It was a magic world--of course there would be magical creatures. He followed Tom up to one of them.

"We're here for our Hogwarts stipends?"

"One person per teller," The goblin growled, and Harry exchanged a quick glance with Tom before moving to another booth.

"Meet me at the chairs when you finish," Tom whispered in his ear as he passed. Harry nodded and relocated to an identical counter.

"I'm here for my Hogwarts stipend," Harry spoke to the new goblin.

"Name?" The goblin said monotonously.

"Harry Potter," Harry answered. The goblin flipped through a large tome several times the size of the largest book Harry had ever seen and searched for what Harry assumed was his name.

"Seeing as this is the first time you've been here, you'll be needing a blood test," the goblin sighed. "You'll be seeing Brunr-" The goblin noticed Tom being led around the counter by said goblin. "Not Brunwick then, Griphook," he corrected with a bored tone.

The goblin Griphook appeared behind the teller and gestured for him to come around the counter and Harry obliged. They walked down a short corridor and entered a small room, sparsely decorated save for a table and two chairs. Griphook sat down in the one closest to the door which left Harry to find a seat opposite him.

The goblin pulled out a blank sheet of parchment and a knife. "Just cut enough to draw blood and drip it onto the parchment," He instructed. 

Harry grimaced and nicked the tip of his finger with the edge of the knife. Blood welled up immediately, a rich crimson, and dropped down onto the paper.

After a few moments, the blood dissolved into the paper and ink began to appear beginning from the top.

“Hadrian James Potter,” The goblin remarked as his name appeared in a calligraphic font. “A Potter! The second one this year?”

Dread coiled in the pit of Harry’s stomach, thick and dark. “I…assume the Potters are a well-known family?”

“One of the Sacred 28,” Griphook affirmed, looking at him strangely. “Surely you would know,”

“No,” Harry said, staring as more ink welled up onto the paper but really seeing nothing. He was a member of a well-known pureblood family? Unless the Dursleys had lied to him about his family name, there was simply no way that his parents had died in a car crash—they were wizards! Harry panicked slightly, thinking of his association with the Potters. If he was truly a scion of the Potters, then the potential repercussions of allowing that to be known could be diastral! “Griphook,” He began. “What are the legal steps to undergo in changing one’s name?”

“Gringotts can do anything if you have the coin,” Griphook said, smiling. “Do you have a name in mind?”

Harry made a cursory glance over his paper—unusually long, for being but an inheritance check—and found two blood inheritances at the top.

Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter

(Heir) Most Noble and Ancient House of Peverell

“Peverell,” He began, “Is this a common name here?”

Griphook raised a brow. “It was long believed that the Peverell line had died out,” He said. And then, with a slight waver of disappointment, “You are an heir?”

It was later that Harry read that upon an inheritance not claimed for three generations, Gringotts was eligible to claim all possessions. Harry was the third generation and it was so that Harry came to be henceforth legally “Hadrian Peverell,” paid for in its entirety by Hogwarts’ trust fund. He hoped Hogwarts wouldn’t receive a receipt.

Griphook returned after a short leave with a marble box. "Your heir ring," He said.

"I get a ring?" Harry asked. "Does it serve a purpose?"

"Only as a symbol of status," Griphook said. "All heirs and lords of Most Ancient and Noble families wear them," He opened the box without dramatic flair.

Inside, cushioned on a bed of silk, was a silver ring framing a blue sapphire. The sapphire was set on a unique triangular frame with a sharp silver line starting from the point and bisecting the base of the triangle, ultimately bracketing the sapphire in place. The band itself was engraved with a variety of runic symbols.

When Harry placed the ring on his hand, it adjusted to his slender pointer finger and flashed soft glow before settling.

"Congratulations Heir Peverell," Griphook said.

The rest of the paper was filled with a variety of properties that he apparently inherited—none of them could be of any use since he couldn’t risk being discovered by the existing Potters. The only Peverell inheritance was an extensive wealth and one property titled “The Greer.”

Harry didn’t plan on living at the orphanage for his seven years as a student. “Griphook,” He began, “You wouldn’t have an idea how to…_get _here.” He pointed at the property in question with an finger.

“Floo powder should work just fine, you can obtain some in one of the stores. Besides that, I believe the inheritance includes a matching heir necklace,” Griphook said calmly. "Should I direct you there?"

“Yes, please,” Harry replied, taking the initiative to stand. They left the small room and exited back into the main hallway, this time taking several turns to arrive at the entrance to a rail-lined mine shaft.

Griphook pulled a lever and with a squeal a large cart came into view and stopped in front of them. Harry entered first, gingerly stepping into the swaying metal cart and taking a seat. Griphook entered behind him and stayed standing, this time pushing a button inside the cart.

Without warning, the cart flew into motion, taking its occupants down a long stretch of tracks that descended into magic. Harry clung to the edges of the cart, wind blowing his hair into an even worse state of disarray. After a series of maneuvers, the cart stopped and Harry rushed to leave the cart, head spinning.

"Vault 12," Griphook announced, pulling out a key and turning it in an indistinguishable location. The goblin stepped back and handed the key to Harry after he finished, and they watched the gears turn and unlock one after the other, eventually opening the doors in a fashion reminiscent of the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Harry swallowed when he saw the sheer amount of gold he found inside the vault. It stacked to the ceiling, accompanying some smaller piles of silver and copper coins.

"What are the monetary units?" Harry asked with a slight tremor in his voice. He was an orphan!

"The gold coins are galleons, the silvers are sickles, and the coppers and knuts," Griphook patiently explained. "There are 17 Sickles in a Galleon, 29 Knuts in a Sickle. I believe the current conversion is about 20 pounds to a galleon."

Harry's mouth went dry. He estimated that there was over a million Galleons in his vault--that was an immeasurable number in standard pounds! Before he entered, Griphook had handed him an expandable velvet pouch in exchange for one gold coin, a pouch he explained would directly draw from the vault when he needed. For now, they were only here for the portkey to the Greer.

Harry traversed the sea of gold carefully, only looking for the locket. Harry found it fairly easily, silver and matching his ring as it was, but couldn't open it--was it difficult due to age? Not having much time, he left the vault with the locket around his neck and tucked under his shirt. The pouch and key he kept inside his pocket.

They resurfaced at ground level, much to Harry's relief, and after thanking Griphook Harry returned to the lobby. Harry saw Tom waiting on one of the chairs and approached him, immediately noting the gold ruby ring adorning his hand.

Harry grinned and outstretched a hand, his ring conspicuously obvious. "Greetings, my name is Hadrian Peverell,"

Tom quickly caught on and gently grasped his palm with a cool hand. "Greetings, Heir Peverell. I go by Marvolo, Marvolo Gaunt,"

"Heir Gaunt, I presume?" Harry laughed. Tom nodded, lips upturned in amusement.

"We should go collect our supplies," Harry said, stopping their little farce. They exited Gringotts and systematically went through the supply list, dipping in and out of stores to collect the necessary materials. Harry ended up with floo powder, the directions for which he had explicitly described for him, a solid oak trunk for his supplies, and a variety of the other items on his list.

At Madame Malkin's Robes for all Occasions, they were fitted for their robes and, as Tom was obsessed with his image, Harry left him to discuss with an overwhelmed Madame about a full wardrobe for the both of them.

Meanwhile, Harry wandered down a dark branching street off of the main road. It had screamed forbidden which was one of the reasons why he had entered--the way the people down Diagon made a wide arc around it was enough to pique his curiosity.

Several shady men and women offered to sell him miscellaneous and equally shady goods, but used to post-air raid scammers as he was, Harry had no problem avoiding their incessant offerings. Harry, for one, had his eyes set on a peculiar pet shop further down, the other reason for his excursion.

He had spotted it from the main road, and the bats hanging in clusters along the rafters was sufficient cause to draw near. Harry spent a few minutes examining the bats and the clouded window before entering the store, a friendly chime sounding out of place in the gloom. He didn't wait for a shopkeeper to come. Instead, Harry walked up and down the different aisles just looking.

There were rats of varying sizes scampering around a cage that was far too small, right beside an ironically larger cage of dead ones for feed. Stacked on top and around every cage were boxes of dried food and accessories.

The cats didn't live in cages. Instead, they prowled around the store free-range; Harry estimated around 10. Besides the bats out front, a few birds perched on some precariously placed branches. What drew Harry's attention the most was a giant kiddie pool at the back left corner, filled halfway with green water and home to a variety of mean-looking fish.

There was one snake, and it sat curled into itself behind the glass of its cage, the cage so filthy that Harry couldn't clearly see the snake at all.

"_Hello," _Harry tried.

"_I hate this life. I should really end it all,"_

Frankly, Harry was surprised to find such a pessimistic and suicidal snake. Considering the state of its habitat, maybe it shouldn't have been surprising. Harry had no desire to adopt a snake, but he figured since he had nothing better to do while he waited on Tom, keeping a snake company would be his good deed of the day.

_"You're cage really is in terrible condition, have you been here long?" _

_"Oh, you're a Speaker? Lovely. Care to let me out?" _

_"I can try," _Harry said. "Excuse me? Can I handle this snake?"

An old crone of a woman appeared and she cackled, heading to the cage and unlatching the top. "Make sure you buy it, dearie. It's been here too long." Her frail hands reached down inside and quickly retracted. "No biting! I'll throw you out if you stay here another month you little bitch!" She tried again and this time she succeeded, bringing into view a dark green snake about as thick as a garden hose.

Harry immediately recognized it.

"Louis?" He called out, eying the black, oil-dipped tail.

"Yup, this here's Louis," The woman snorted sarcastically.

The snake looked to him with dead eyes as it was deposited into his arms. "_What Louis. Louis is what, exactly," _

Of course the snake wouldn't recognize its name, even if it _was _Louis. And Harry had named him in the future. As the storeowner walked away, Harry racked his head for some surefire way to identify him, even in the younger state that he was.

"_Do you have a…name…by chance?" _

"_I have no concept of names, Speaker," _

_"Then do you have something you want to be called?" _Harry prompted.

The snake lifted its emerald body and rested its anvil head on Harry's shirt, looking up at Harry vertically with amber eyes. Then, it said seriously:

"_Supreme Master of All Living and Dead, the Ultimate Lord over all that Slithers and Walks, the Greatest of All Time-"_

"I'll take him!" Harry cried urgently.

While the woman happily hummed and processed the exorbitant twenty galleons he had paid,--Harry vaguely felt that he was being exploited-- Harry stroked Louis's scales where he had curled warmly inside his pocket.

"_I'm Harry. You can be called Louis," _He whispered happily.

"_Louissss," _The snake said. "_Louisssssss,"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gaunt family was annoying plotwise and so they don't exist. Yay Tom, you have a fortune now too. 
> 
> I'm sorry I didn't update for 128261398 million years, had some life stuff and also plot configuration stuff to do. Please take this extra long chapter as compensation.


End file.
